Cold and Wet

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Memoir  |  House: Booksie Classic


A short story about a teenage girl musing over a bad breakup.

Submitted: December 25, 2017

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Submitted: December 25, 2017

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What a fucked up day, I thought to myself as I prepared for my long (well not quite that long) walk to the ice cream shop.

It was raining hard, there were puddles everywhere, and I knew that my red Converse would get soaked. You know what though, I didn't care. At that particular moment, I didn't care because I was angry. Hurt and angry that, at the time, the love of my life left me. Left me for some chick that was in a grade below me. What I would hear later was that she pleased him orally outside of the military ball later that year. 

The rain is coming down hard and I am getting soaked. Clearly, I didn't prepare well for this kind of weather and now I'm going to be fucking cold, wet, and even more angry. I start to walk down the sidewalk, moving past an irregular tide of students also heading home for the day. It's dark outside and all I want to do is disappear or travel back in time to that day when it all happened and wonder where I went wrong. 

Oh, great. Here we go. Here he comes, with his new fucking girlfriend daring to look at me with that look like everything is just peachy. What a tease on my heart. Did he really think he was going to get a rise out of me because well, he did. In my mind, in my soul, I died a little inside. As we exchange glances, him walking to my right, back towards the school and, I, on the left, heading to where he most likely came from, I reminisced about that damn day. 

We had went to the ice cream shop after school one afternoon. We sat at the end of the shopping plaza, him against one of the support beams and myself, between his legs with my back against his front. We were talking, talking ordinary teenage jabber. Then, abruptly, he starts the conversation in a way that any person dreads. He tells me how much he loves me, like me, on and on. The perfect start to a breakup. And then, bam! He tells me that we are done. Just like that. Of course, he tried to save face by saying the traditional line of "It's not you, it's me". Nevermind the small detail that I would hear about later that him and this girl had already been dating. Just that it was over. The nerve of him honestly. 

I keep my pace down the sidewalk. As each minute passes, my clothes grow increasingly more damp and my shoes and socks are soaked completely, sticking to my skin like spandex. Cold and foreign. I come to realize even more so how fucking cold, wet, damp, (cold again) I am. I hate this, I hate him, and yet I love him, making it even more difficult that it already is. The first guy I get with and this (for a later story, this becomes an ever growing trend for myself). Still growing increasingly aware of how cold I am. 

I cross the street and change my course to my right towards the ice cream shop (side note: this is a popular hangout among the rocker kids, including myself). I step under the overhang and finally get relief from the rain. The streetlights are on and, looking back on it now, it was a really dark, damp fucking day. The only thing left to do was wait for my mom to come pick me up. Still cold, still damp, still angry, still hurt. To pass the time, I tortured myself with my own thoughts and memories. Still hating and loving this guy that broke my heart. Why is my mother taking so long? I'm col, wet, and this day just can't get any worse. Life just can't get any worse. 

Hours pass (literally?) and, finally, I see my mom's baby blue Sonata pull up into the shopping plaza. All I can think about is how cold and wet I am and the spot where me and him sat when he dumped me. It was a foreshadowing of what was to come not only when it came to stuff like this but also to more moments of damp sneakers, wet clothes, and thinking about how cold I am. 


© Copyright 2019 Edith Grey. All rights reserved.

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